Checkmate: behind the scenes
by Anla'shok
Summary: Who would have thought that a determined young woman could lay the foundations of the second rebellion? Mags never let the sheer immensity of the task stop her. This story contains outtakes of my main fic "Checkmate". Go read it if you want to learn of Mags' extraordinary and absolutely unique Games, and discover how a victor can topple an empire.
1. Confrontation (Dec, year 9) 37

**Author's Note: **

This story is a compilation of outtakes of my story Checkmate. If you're here because you liked the summary, or because you're bored, go read Checkmate, you won't be disappointed ;D.

**Disclaimer:** Anything borrowed from the Hunger Games world belongs to Suzanne Collins.

**THESE OUTTAKES CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR CHECKMATE. The number in the title gives the number in the chapter you must have read up to to read the outtake. ****For example, here, you should read up to chapter 37 before reading.**

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**This scene takes place after Chapter 37 and before the victory tour.**

**Prompt by Vyrazhi: confrontation between Mags and Dylana.**

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_Date: Year 9, December. A hundred and sixteen days after Mags' victory._

"Dylana, the peacekeepers' new uniforms have vanished. They're _quite_ annoyed. You wouldn't know by any chance who is responsible?"

Mags had trudged through the snow for half an hour to get to town, and was now quite annoyed herself. Marquise's anger over the phone hadn't been exaggerated. Mags knew she owed the peacekeeper from One for giving her twenty-four hours to get the uniforms back, because she could perfectly picture Patrol Leader Ajax pacing with his weapon in hand, itching to crack some skulls.

"Why ask me?" Dylana replied testily, affecting a bored and distant expression.

Mags forced herself to stay calm. They hadn't even started talking. She shouldn't lose her head over Dylana's refusal to meet her eyes.

"I thought it would have been cowardly to ask Marlin to ask you, and because I know you're smart enough to recognize this is stupid. I don't want anyone to come to harm," she said, her arms crossed over her thick coat.

"You never do…" Dylana muttered. The redness of her face was not solely due to the biting cold anymore. "It's the middle of winter and the shops are empty," she said, her voice rising, "We should have received a train load of coats and blankets a week ago. People are getting sick, the villages are the worst. How can we buy the Capitol's overpriced junk if they don't even send it over?"

Mags stared, taken by surprise. Snow had started falling, thick and sticky, and earlier in the year than usual, but she hadn't paused to think too much about the repercussions. If the trains were blocked, she needed to do something about it.

"Dylana, give back the uniforms and I'll try to speed things up," she said, searching for an easy solution.

"Don't you work miracles, Mags," the brunette replied sarcastically, interrupting Mags' musings, "with all that hard earned money..."

"There's snow on the tracks," Mags painstakingly explained, trying not to let the stinging comment get to her. She knew justifying herself was pointless. "Peacekeeper patrols are struggling to keep it off. The amount of ground to cover is huge."

"Is snow some kind of new cataclysm?" Dylana said, her sarcasm growing more pronounced. "We go through the same shit every few years. Can't they send the stuffed blankets over from Eight in Autumn? No they can't," she continued, rage lacing her voice, "because they're too busy making dresses and fancy suits for Capitolites who own already a frigging hundred."

"And angering the town's peacekeepers will get us warm because…?" Mags interrupted, sensing her own temper flare.

It wasn't the accusations she disapproved of but the useless action people took, and Dylana knew that better than anyone.

"I don't see why we should be the only ones to shiver all day long. Surely you remember how it feels," Dylana said. Her lips formed into a thin smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Why don't you call Madam President. Tell her we start biting when we're pissed."

Mags shut her eyes. "Yarrow took the uniforms, didn't he?"

Dylana painfully grabbed Mags' arm. "I swear if any peacekeeper gets within fifty feet of him, I'll kill you," she said, her voice raw with threat.

Mags shook her off without much effort. "What does he expect to gain, Dee? We should collect salt and clear the path to Lycorias. The sailors can do it since the weather makes the seas too dangerous to sail. We can use the train since it's stuck here. At least we'll get Lycorias' supply of extra blankets. We can get the stuff to the villages by hovercraft."

"Oh now you have a bright idea," Dylana said, throwing her hands in the air. "But before we started annoying peacekeepers, we could all have died frozen for all you cared."

Something snapped in Mags. White-hot fury born of indignation and helplessness surged through her. She did her best. She wasn't their nanny.

"I hadn't thought about it, Dee! I don't pay attention to the amount of blankets sold! I do my best, and sometimes I feel like people are happy to let it happen but utterly unwilling to make it easier on me, unless I pay them of course."

"Boo hoo, Mags," Dylana said, her face devoid of compassion. "Pay them then. Those poor contemptuous souls that _dare _ask for bare necessities to someone who is showered by gold every month by the Capitol. It won't ruin you, _oh Victor_."

"Quit the sarcasm," Mags said, struggling to keep her voice level. "If everyone is paid double then prices will double. We need the amount of fish to double, that's why I pay people to work. Stop behaving like a child and start being constructive."

"That's what you told yourself when you stood there and let those kids from District Six be murdered? How constructive of me? Did you congratulate yourself when Lila got killed by a peacekeeper, happy your hands would stay pretty and clean?"

Mags darkened. It took all her self-control not to strike the girl before her.

"You know nothing of the Games or of Lila. You saw what the Capitol showed you and wanted you to see. Don't become stupid when it suits you."

"The Capitol showed me you got lucky. You're right, the recaps made very little sense. What did you do to Constantine Aquila that convinced him to die so stupidly? Fife really didn't look happy at all. Do you think she hated you in the end?"

Mags physically recoiled, as if a phantom hand had grabbed her throat. She furiously blinked tears out of her eyes, feeling the icy wind already soak up the moisture. Wounds that had no place in this conversation were slashed open, and Mags willed her emotions away and her very being hidden behind plates of gray armor. She wouldn't let Dylana's hurtful words reach her. That girl's opinion couldn't matter to her anymore. Her turmoil faded enough for her to turn hard eyes on the person that had once been her closest friend.

"Convincing yourself that giving a peacekeeper pneumonia will help the town won't make it less stupid. Go on making them hate us more, that'll improve our lives," Mags said, with a coldness that made the winter seem mild, "you're miserable so you want everybody miserable. What kind of ambition is that? Try to make things better instead of ruining the comfort of the few people who have it!"

She respected that Dylana cared enough to try and make things change, but when good intentions were mixed with blatantly counter-productive methods, threatening to tear apart the tenuous working truce Mags had with the peacekeepers and President Achlys, Mags had little indulgence to spare. This wasn't on the same level as Esperanza's kidnapping, but it remained a prime example of dangerous stupidity.

Wariness entered Dylana's brown eyes as she took in Mags' merciless expression. "They're-"

"I don't care," Mags snapped, "Funnily enough, when I talk to them, they talk back politely. They have their pride, and yes, they're arrogant and felt quite superior at first, they probably still do," she granted, "but they've been doing their job without a single incident ever since I started working with them, Dylana."

An angry breath left her lips. "You're upset because I'm succeeding and because I'm showing it's possible to make things better and that makes you pseudo rebels feel bad. You give the Capitol excuses to keep us poor and punish us."

"What does it matter that we're slightly better off if we're still enslaved?" Dylana retorted hotly, her anger seeming less focused on Mags than directed at life itself. "Why should people work so hard when everything goes to the Capitol? We'll always have to work hard and be grateful for what we're given. What if I want paint to make my house look prettier? There's no paint on sale. What's the point of money if you can't spend it? If it's just for food, then I want a world without money where my fish is my own. I'd be richer for sure. We can't shut up and bow our backs, Mags. People who stop acting soon stop believing."

"Stop acting?" Mags exclaimed in dismay. "What do you think I do all day long? Those people who work, you think they have forgotten the war?"

"No, Mags," Dylana said, her voice now level and serious, "but they're more comfortable, they're paid, they're eating, it's easier now, so they'll convince themselves they're doing the right thing. They care for the present and have no global view. They're like Kyle. You think he changed because of your touching speeches? No, he thinks you're hot and admires how powerful you seem. He's thrilled to be alive and loved back and he'll be your puppy as long as your kisses make his blood rush away from his head. He's selfish, they all are. Give him power, you'll see what happens."

_How dare she bring up Kyle._ The coolness that had invaded Mags at the callous mention of Fife and Constantine crystallized into hard ice.

"You've proven to me to trust people, to love people, who don't think. Had I trusted you, I would be dead by now. Esperanza and Mama would be dead, Dee," Mags said, her voice hardening with every word. "We talked of doing things that were bigger than ourselves when we were kids. We thought we'd do it together, we were naive," she said bitterly. "Your hate might make you feel independent and alive, but don't go thinking you're doing any good. I want the blankets tomorrow in the post office."

Dylana crossed her arms and straightened at the challenge. "Or what? They'll round us up?"

Having Ajax drag Dylana out of her bed at six o'clock was so ludicrous that she couldn't help herself. Mags laughed. She would protect people from the Capitol, even if they were stupid.

"Stop convincing yourself I changed, Dee. Destroy the uniforms, then. Make sure no shred of them is ever found. I'll get new ones shipped by hovercraft to them. They'll get pissed but I'll control it. No one gets hurt."

"And next time?" Dylana challenged, looking uncertain.

"I'll cover for you again and try to limit the damage," Mags said calmly as she tried to keep in a long-suffering sigh. "You'll waste my time and energy, and you'll one day wonder why you're taking such stupid risks even if it makes Yarrow happy. I'm not so sure_ I_ am the one being used here."

"Used?" Dylana croaked, her indignation stealing her voice away. She huffed. "At least I'm getting some. Achlys doesn't seem one for hugs."

Mags stared at her in shock. She wasn't dreaming: Dylana had just decided to end the argument with a joke.

"So, destroyed or in the post office?" Dylana said with fake cheer. "But don't think it'll change much, Mags. Some of us need an outlet. I don't care if it's childish, but it's the truth. The Capitol wipes its shoes on our backs. We grow white hair with every reaping. _Fear_. That's how the Capitol keeps us subdued. Even if it's an illusion, we need to do things that have an immediate impact. We need to feel in control or we break apart. Maybe not you, Mags," she granted after a slight pause, "but many, many people."

Mags growled in frustration. "Why are you dating Yarrow instead of working with me to have people express their anger in ways that suits us all?" She exclaimed, grasping Dylana's wrist, "You understand them so much better than I do."

"Uh, don't you have Kyle for that?" Dylana chuckled sardonically. "He wants to impress you so badly he pretends not to want to blow up cops? There's no way he changed that much."

_Maybe._ Mags didn't want to let Dylana make her doubt Kyle. "You know me better."

The brunette stared at her with her lips pursed. "Mags, whenever I look at you I see you volunteer, and whenever my mind goes on the Games, I think 'was she lucky? or did she honestly deserve to win?' I don't know which is scarier. We'd be fighting all the time. Face it, we understand each other, but we never agreed about how to handle these things, even before, it's just we both lacked the power to do anything. Now we do." She grimaced. "You more than me…"

"Don't let Yarrow destroy your family," Mags warned. She was afraid Dylana was right. Some differences in opinion mattered little in childhood, but they had grown up.

"He's a good person," Dylana shot back, her chin tilted up defensively. "You've never even spoken to him."

Mags sighed. "Panem is flawed, the well-adapted aren't necessarily moral people, Dee. Just don't blind yourself because he makes your heart beat faster. Decent people can be dangerous too."

"Take your own advice and leave my love life alone," Dylana snapped.

Mags bristled. She woke up every day aware she could never share everything with Kyle. She didn't need a reminder.

"Stop stealing peacekeeper uniforms," she said stiffly.

"Get me blankets."

Mags rolled her eyes. "Don't stick your tongue out at me."

The brunette frowned in dismay. "I did _not_."

"Sorry, I felt this was the way the argument was going."

"Honestly, _Mother_, I'm too old for such juvenile displays," Dylana said in an affected voice, a small smirk on her lips.

Mags cracked a smile. Dylana had called her 'Mother' a thousand times over the years. Inwardly, the victor mourned, because Dylana hadn't changed. She was still her best friend, they argued but patched things up, like they'd always done, and right then, she could almost imagine things would be like before.

They wouldn't. Too much had changed.

So Mags didn't answer. She just nodded, her eyes lost in the distance. A free, fair Panem, it was her duty to make it real, even if it cost her.

"Post-office in three hours if you can manage it," she said, "since they won't see you, or destroyed elsewise."

"I'm mentally preparing myself for a fight with Yarrow," Dylana said glumly, "Please get those blankets fast. Sleeping alone would suck when it's so bloody cold."

Mags smiled. "I'll get them. And we'll hoard better for next winter," she promised.

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**I** **don't know what you had in mind, Vyrazhi, but that's what my muse came up with^^.**

**Dear readers, don't hesitate to submit more outtakes ideas (on Mags' Games or on the post Games part). I'll try to fit anything feasible in.**

**Please review.**


	2. Kissed (Dec, year 9) 37

**Prompt by ETNRL4L: a kissing scene where Kyle is actually the dude in the relationship.**

**Set between chapters 37 and 38.**

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_Date: Year 9, December. Nineteen weeks after Mags' victory._

"Where are you taking me?" Mags repeated, a frown creasing her brow.

The freezing wind bit through her clothes and sprayed salt water on her exposed skin. She regretted not having taken her gloves.

Kyle had intercepted her on her way to the construction site without a word of explanation and a mysterious expression on his face.

"You'll see," Kyle said, his breaths white puffs as he grasped her cold hand and lead her behind the docks.

Mags slid on a thin sheet of ice as they left the path and clung onto the taller boy to avoid crashing clumsily on the frozen ground.

"Kyle, I have things to do."

"I know. I'm not a kid, trust me," he said, cutting her off with a firm kiss. "Watch your step," he said, pointing at a small wooden boat, "we're not going far at all, don't worry," he said as she eyed the tumultuous gelid sea in horror.

The secrecy was so unlike Kyle that Mags' protests died.

The young woman allowed herself to relax as Kyle rowed, a smile gracing her lips. He was right. She behaved like his mother half the time, but he didn't seem to resent it. He always did what she told him to with a smile and looked thrilled to be given a task. Not that Mags complained, it was great, but now that she allowed herself to surrender some control, giddiness spread through her body. His newfound confidence and the satisfied crooked smile lighting his tanned face were undeniably attractive.

Her smile broadened at the thought he had dared take an initiative. She forgot the cold as her curiosity became almost painfully intense. Where was he taking her?

He was rowing quite close to the reefs, passing small caves and pools. They probably could have reached their destination on foot, but the humid rocks were very dangerous in the winter.

A glint of light caught her eye. Their small craft bumped gently against a narrow entrance and Kyle gestured at her to go inside, an expectant grin on his face.

Mags carefully stepped off the rocking boat, crouching to make sure she didn't cut herself. The entrance soon widened into a small cave shielded from the gelid wind.

The sunlight poured down from large crevice in the ceiling. A smile drew itself unbidden on Mags' lips.

Ice had colonized every crack and orifice, filling the inside with a colony of crystal gems. Iridescent light reflected on every surface changing each ray of sunlight into a myriad of swirling rainbow glimmers.

Mags' eyes fluttered in childish awe. She slipped her hand into Kyle's.

"All that shines isn't gold, they say, but here, the true gold definitely doesn't shine, look deeper, Mags," Kyle said, turning her towards a gloomier edge of the crooked cave. "I didn't take you here just because it's pretty."

Mags tore her eyes from the glittering ice and tried to see what he was pointing at.

A pile of what seemed to be chips of reef and dried weed, the squinting victor realized there was a small worn crate.

She crouched down and wiped the dust away before opening it, her fingers trembling slightly.

The half-rotten lid revealed a small radio and round trackers of the kind you stuck under a crate or on a hovercraft hull. She lifted a bundle of handwritten notes that looked like strategic reports of people's locations and supplies.

Mags' heart began to race as she searched for a name or date on the papers. If the trackers were operational, Kyle could be avoxed for this.

"We found this with the guys a year ago," Kyle said from behind her, a note of triumph in his tone, "it got put here for safekeeping during the Rebellion, maybe before, but no one came back for it. We kept this place a secret, but I thought you should see it."

Mags stopped when the thick leaflet she found unfolded into a map. A map of the whole of Panem, not just with the district borders like the ones she'd seen at school, but one with town names, railways, district sizes and landmarks.

"Let me see this," she whispered, her eyes widening in acute interest.

So there really was just one big city in Nine and Eight, and the settlements scattered across the territory were only sleeping houses for the workers.

"Kiss me first," Kyle said, putting a hand on her arm.

Mags didn't lift her eyes off the map, as if staring hard enough would burn the details into her mind. She elbowed her insistent boyfriend away.

"Kyle, go away, I could tear it!" A map like this was priceless.

Kyle laughed and lifted her up by the waist before letting her fall back like a sleeping child in his arms, wrapping one under her legs and the other around her shoulders. Mags' left arm was pinned against his chest and her right wrist tightly held by Kyle's wrist. She couldn't believe he was carrying her so effortlessly.

Mags pretended to struggle when he pressed his lips to hers, but gave up in seconds. Excitement rippled through her as she surrendered to the lingering kiss, delighting in the feel of his hot breath trickling down her skin and of his heart pounding against hers.

She stood on tip-toes as he let her down and snaked her arm around his neck, pulling him in a second embrace, just as deep and fiery.

"Now I get at least five minutes with the map," she snapped as she pulled away, affecting a haughty expression that couldn't conceal her flush or the sparkle in her green eyes.

"I get the last kiss," Kyle said, a hint of challenge in his tones.

Mags grinned. She liked this new side of Kyle a lot. She realized now that she had made all the decisions regarding them. Kyle listened to her and was adorable, but he took few initiatives and she had decided more than once not to see him on days she'd felt drained or down because she was afraid he'd be at a loss if she had nothing to say and didn't know what she wanted from him except his presence. Now, she let herself hope she had found someone who could be strong for her and not just love her strength.

"Kiss away," she breathed, tilting her lips up towards him with a flirtatious smile.

Mags had liked him a lot for months. He made her heart race and brightened her days with his kindness and easy smile, but now, she wondered if she wasn't truly falling in love. For the first time, she was slightly annoyed that not to live alone and allowed herself to hope this would bloom into something serious.

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**AN: ETNRL4L, I hope you're happy^^. A fair few kisses here and even an element of plot; I associated "dude" with "takes matters in his own hands", I hope that's what you meant.**

**Iacopo, I will write a part on Constantine's and Fife's time in the Citadel, but it'll be trickier (if only because the two characters evolved after that, so I have to be careful to write them how they were during the beginning of the Games and not how they became later), so it might take a fair while. But I won't forget, don't worry.**

**Please review and don't hesitate to submit more prompts!^^.**


	3. Revenge (Mags' Games) 26

**Prompt by Well of wishes: an Achlys-centered chapter on the 9th Games.**

**That one was quick to write, since I needed Achlys' motives very clear in my mind to write Checkmate.**

**Obviously, DO NOT READ THIS if you haven't read Checkmate. It'll not only make less sense but also spoil the whole book.**

**Thanks for reading.**

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"This is the most ridiculous suggestion to have ever crossed your lips, Tisias."

The white-haired woman was facing the window, embracing the sight of her city, its clean paved roads, gleaming buildings and flowered balconies. At first glance, few would guess the Capitol was still recovering from the worst war in a century. Evadne Achlys didn't deign turn towards Tisias. He should feel honored that she hadn't laughed at him or thrown him out of her office. It was appalling how such an intelligent man could be reduced to a blubbering incompetent because his hubris blinded him. Tisias Elysium was a visionary, not a strategist.

"To show our superiority once and for all," he heatedly said, his voice trembling slightly from the rebuke.

_Ego_, it turned them all into spoiled children.

"I have a signed petition here, over three thou-"

"They would lose," Achlys cut in, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor as she turned around to face the foolish man.

Tisias' outrage swirled around him like a mantle of flames, but he seemed to have lost the ability to form words. He leaned ever so slightly on his jeweled cane, unawares it betrayed him, turning the elegant ornament into a crutch.

The President's lips curled into a small mocking smile. Why did so many fight for ideas they wouldn't defend? She had never executed, or even _fired_ someone for speaking their mind in the privacy of her office, and yet they all wilted when she demanded arguments, sulking like children caught using adult words and pretending to understand what they did not.

"Your trained Capitol tributes would lose_, _Tisias,_" _she said, disbelief lacing her tone at having to explain something so self-evident. "Those darling wool-brained children would _die. _You would make me rig the Games to keep them safe and sustain the illusion that Capitol blood is too exalted to be spilled on the ground? You would have me risk riots in _my_ city, when a district victor would be crowned?"

Achlys was relieved to see understanding in the long-haired councilor's eyes as his face lost all color.

"Find another outlet for our evidently degenerate youths," she ordered, "other types of competitions where they can paw the ground and smell blood, but nothing fatal, and do _not_ interfere with my Games," she finished, her voice a steely whisper.

Tisias bowed and left the room, the petition crumbled in his clenched hand.

The Hunger Games were not gladiator sparring matches designed to feed the common folk's bloodlust. The President had been thrilled to see how entranced her citizen had become with the event, but entertainment was secondary. The Games were her great weapon against the districts, they would reshape Panem into a world where each knew their place and where chaos, riots and the horrors of war were but myths told by the fire to give sleepy children shivers.

The Ninth would be a masterpiece. They would mark the true end of the Dark Days by removing one of its most stubborn stains.

_Jute Wickers._ The mere name made Achlys' teeth grind in rage.

Legacy Glamson, Vernes Elysium, the delightful Aries Kaulkin, born of district Ten and yet one of the keenest minds the President had had the pleasure to know, _Mirelle..._ Her golden eyes shut at the last, as if the simple gesture could exorcise the pain of lives snatched away by brutes too careless to know their value.

Accidents for all the people knew, but Achlys had seen the mark of assassins all over the crime scenes. She had seen the bloated corpses of the suicidal fanatics Wickers had sent to their deaths. Year after year, from the depths of that accursed bunker, Wickers sniffed the air for preys, like a hyena eager to foul and destroy all that was good. The petty and cruel he left alone, but those who distinguished themselves by hastening the reconstruction of the ravaged Panem? Yes, those went to sleep and never awoke, shaken uselessly by their devastated children who refused to believe that medicine hadn't yet learned to reverse death.

Wickers couldn't stand the idea of the world going on after his death, he needed it to crumble with him to convince himself he had a destiny.

Achlys pulled out the instruction sheets that she would give the doctors tasked with implanting the cameras in the tributes and putting them to sleep during their second time in the train. The surgery had to be flawless and swift, there would be no room for error.

She dug her polished nails into the cherry oak table, hate twisting her features into a mask of rage.

Wickers would never again slip through her fingers.

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"I thought you had recruited Gamemakers to avoid working such hours, Evadne," an amused knowing voice said, perfectly audible in the complete silence.

"I am not working. This is a personal project, my love."

The familiar rhythmic slight thud made tears rise in her eyes. The vats had been working day and night during the Dark Days to produce armies of mutts. Organic replacement limbs had been rare and hastily grown. The prosthetic leg had not been a perfect fit and now could not be replaced without causing irreparable damage.

"Wickers?" Lucius Achlys said, drawing the name out like a curse.

The President lifted her eyes towards her husband. He was magnificent despite his limp, his slow movements were the ones of those with the power to wait, and only added to his majesty, but the woman saw what others didn't, the imperceptible stumbling, the confusion narrowing his eyes when people reacted to something too far for him to see.

_I'm an old man, I do not need to run fast_, he would tell her.

But it was just an excuse, a way not to say 'I'm almost blind'. His eyes were of the lightest blue and had ensnared her long before she had thought herself a grown woman. She had always begged him never to alter them, and now their sparkle had dimmed, stolen away by the flash stunners the rebels had dumped in random streets. They had been led by a man named Wickers, a man who did not need an army to operate. A bombing run of twelve ships, an absurd, reckless move. There had been few deaths that day, but hundreds were crippled. Lives destroyed without it truly impacting the war. _Good for rebel morale. _

Achlys' teeth clenched in disgust. She was a war general, she understood how it worked. She could have hated Wickers only as opponents hated each other for indirectly causing her husband's wounds, aware of the realities of war, but Lucius had not been the only casualty.

"His name will soon be ashes on the wind, Lucius. I will give my Gamemakers great liberty in the future, but this I must oversee."

Her husband let himself lean against the desk and put a warm hand on her shoulder. "Are you certain your spy is still faithful?"

A nervous smile drew itself on Achlys' lips. She played no games with the man she had married. "Peacekeeper Ashlar is bearing a message, he was captured today," the white-haired woman said, her eyes wide with hope, "Cresyl should contact us soon but I am not so worried about his loyalties."

"Not worried, and yet here you are at three in the morning, fresh faced like a lass half your age," Lucius said with a hearty chuckle, "Come home, Eva, I will not have you ruin perfect plans in a moment of panic. The scramblers in the sewers will make for horrible waits during the Games, it is better we find something else to occupy your mind."

_Something else?_ Her eyes fell on the picture of Gabriel on her desk, forty-three years old and yet so vibrant and cheerful, as if the sun's shine alone made him the happiest man on earth. Her other half, her better half. The trusting passionate man that had been an extension of her being.

Her twin brother.

His premature death had ripped her heart out, and without Lucius, she would not have survived. He had dragged her out of the falling building, his leg ripped open and his blue eyes unseeing while she screamed for Gabriel.

Her heart had scarred and had grown cold. She had never thought to rule before then, she had been content to a Captain of the Homeguard, but her twin's death had opened her eyes.

No one else was fit to rule, no one else accepted to pay the price. She did what she had to, for Panem.

Wickers had been in that stolen hovercraft. He had looked at her in the eyes, he had seen Gabriel wrapping a cloth over Lucius' wounds, and had shot through the broken window. He had killed Gabriel. She would never forget. She would never forgive.

"Eva, come home," Lucius said, gently turning the picture face down on the table. "He loved to see you laugh."

"Oh, I'll laugh," Achlys promised, giving her husband a tender kiss as she imagined a world free of Jute Wickers.

* * *

The screens flickered open one by one. Twenty Four screens, twenty four tributes on a train speeding for District Three's ruins, but some were already quite useless.

Achlys stood before the screens in the new grand control room. **  
**

Lila, Keane, Gyan and his pudgy district partner were already pacing, the adrenaline injected in their veins during their sleep keeping them alert and on edge. Rebellious or knowledgeable, those would lead her to the rebels and hopefully earn their good graces, or at least guide others out of the lethal toxic ruins. Wagons One and Two had fireproof furniture and cushioned walls. The clever Fife, and the dark skinned Mechar were in their beds, unawares their rooms was fortified. Those were tributes Achlys knew would not cause problems were they to win. Volunteers or reaped, they had a tunnel view of life and would be docile as long as their families were protected and they were given a little freedom.

The white-haired woman curled her lips when she saw Jay groggily rush towards wagon Ten, shouting for his absent mentor. Stupid boy, she'd hadn't wanted him to die just yet. He'd been belligerent and proactive, the kind of people she'd need to find Wickers.

"Is there truly way no way to have soundtrack?" She said, annoyed to have so much data flash indiscriminately before her eyes. She was twisting her head left and right like an idiot, struggling to keep up with the subtitles and images. "Or make screens flash red when something notable happens?"

"Not quickly enough, Madam President," Gamemaker Crispus replied. "A replay is the most efficient solution. We preferred to make sure the memory of the eye chips was fit to store ten days' worth of videos."

Achlys nodded, not wanting to sound too unreasonable. She clutched her shaking hands together, stress making her head spin.

The two tributes from Six were finally stirring. The girl rubbed absently the grease on her arm. They had been so unremarkable, her a catty spoiled child, him a whiny doormat, that Achlys had no reservations about making scapegoats out of them. They would be serving Panem better than anything they could have achieved living their tedious district lives.

It was time.

She detonated the bomb on the rails and loosened the shackles on wagon Ten. Everything had been calculated with extreme accuracy.

Silent from her side of the screens, the train arched and bent, fire crawling from under the train inside the wagons as the windows exploding from the pressure.

Achlys' eyes narrowed dangerously when she saw Three's wagon crack and the ceiling cave in. This had never happened during the simulations.

She needed at least one from Three alive to guide the others! Her mind whirred as she considered calling Vicuña to have her guide the survivors to the sewers. It was a risk she would hate to take. She didn't want the tributes not to ponder the day's events. They needed to be too stunned to think, spurred into action and believing they had found the sewers by chance.

"Why isn't district Three responding?" She said through clenched teeth, staring daggers at the black screens.

"The girl is dead, the boy's eyes are closed," Crispus said. Achlys liked his precise answers and the lack of fear in his tone. It had taken her six entire years to find a competent team she was satisfied with. "The driver tried to break full force. He hadn't been warned."

Of course he hadn't but he'd had instructions. He would have been quite safe had he followed them. Not a single avox had more than scratches.

* * *

The President frowned in annoyance when she saw the large alliance of aspiring Careers. Those might lead them to rebels, but would be greeted by guns and swords. She had hoped Will and Robin to number among the infiltrates, not join the first murderers that crossed their paths.

"Keane and Rapid are going the wrong way, make it clear they are to turn around," she said, "Have a pair of mutts trail Lila from afar to keep her safe until she reaches her goal. Any observer must think they are hostile," she stressed.

Achlys turned, dismayed, when she saw a column of fire erupt on one of the screens.

A content smile drew itself across her face when she saw Gyan's eyes open and him dart out from under the rubble.

Constantine Aquila had lit the spilled fuel. A solid pedigree and he had teamed with Mags and Fife. _Good._ Those would go far, they had to.

She eyed in disdain the five tributes who remained by the train wreck, idle and looking lost. She unfortunately was not surprised. People were all for having rights and privileges, but when they had to take initiatives, to actually fight for something and find the strength in themselves… Even Mechar, so swift to save the fainted girl during the chariot rides. How could pretty little Synthra accept to see a man rendered so weak because of her? Had she no self respect? _So disappointing._

* * *

"Send a hovercraft," Achlys said, her face pale as she saw the disgusting Scavengers grope Will to drag him outside.

"It's a trap, Ma'am," Gamemaker Sofia pointed out.

"That's why I have selected the crew. Send it," Achlys ordered curtly.

She didn't want her councilors and direct subordinates to be afraid to contradict her, but sometimes she wished to lash out. She had planned this for two years and didn't want to have to explain her every decision.

She laughed in relief when four of the black screens flashed on.

_Constantine, Fife, Mags, Lila, welcome back._

"I suppose you had a second plan to destroy the scrambler?" Crispus asked, no doubt in his tone.

"Absolutely. We have gained a day. In six hours, have Styx, Robin and Delphin brought back by hovercraft to the ruins. I shall speak with them first, I have a task for them."

The President could almost hear her gamemakers' frantic typing to prepare the first recap. There was a reason she had recruited keen psychologists with a sharp quill.

Nothing would be left to chance.

* * *

"So?" She asked Crispus, hoping her eagerness didn't show through too much. She liked to cultivate a certain mystery.

"Lila refused to be given more information than what she had to see. She is a fanatic."

Achlys nodded, unhappy but not too surprised. "That girl needs to be made an example of," she said, still grim about Robin's execution. How could the silly girl have thought to slip out of the Capitol undetected?

Crispus bowed his head. "Mags is a rebel, a real one. She's convinced Constantine and he's fallen for a rebel woman. He gave the Citadel more information on peacekeepers, weaponry and technique, than I was aware of myself."

"Then we'll break her and kill him."

Achlys knew Styx and Delphin could be both molded into acceptable victors. Acceptable but not superior._ Nothing like her delightful Vicuña_, she thought, disappointed.

But no matter. Destroying the rebels was the priority.

"Do not humiliate Aquila, his family is important. Do not be hasty in your commentaries. Speak of him with respect," she said, her brow furrowed in concentration. Everything had to be carefully controlled.

"But show his feelings have lost him, his passion turned against him?" Crispus said, straightening.

"Absolutely," Achlys said with a smile. "Fife?" she inquired.

"She wants to live. She lies like she breathes air. She seems a very practical girl."

The President pondered the news. Maybe Fife Chican would be a better victor... Achlys had seen the lust for power in the short girl's black eyes when Fife had looked down on Constantine for having volunteered. Give her a place in the Capitol, and Fife would maybe let herself be molded into a trustworthy agent.

Crispus voice grew wary. "They've been wearing masks for hours, we can't know what they're saying."

Achlys' face darkened. Had they figured it out? She had to admit she was impressed. "Watch the records more carefully, see what you can find on the three. Don't waste your time on Lila."

* * *

"None of you saw they had dynamite?" Achlys said, her eyes burning into the four gamemakers assembled in front of her. Sofia looked about to cry.

The white-haired woman wondered why they were not _all_ weeping.

The time and resources invested into making that movie, finding the right people among those waiting to be avoxed, the ones who were already inclined to abuse children, hijacking them… How had the surviving hostile Scavengers bypassed the mutts supposed to hunt them down? The stupid creature's enhanced senses were worth half of District Twelve and yet they'd managed to get lost in the ruins. And people thought her eccentric for preferring robots… _Imbeciles._

There was no time, she had a speech to make. The scenes would do, and maybe the horror in the watchers' eyes would make up for the total destruction of the set.

* * *

Achlys bit her lip, stumped. Why hadn't Mags killed Cresyl? Why wasn't the girl acting like she was supposed to act? Why was Fife the one telling the rebel woman that killing the avoxes was fine? Why was Mags suggesting the peacekeepers have the masks?

A small smile creased the woman's lips. _Could Mags have seen the light?_

It was too early to judge but suddenly the girl was much, _much_, more interesting. Someone so willful, on her side... Achlys' eyes glittered at the prospect.

"I want a retrospective to show Mags has understood that she was wrong to have been swayed by rebel ideals the moment I give you the signal. We may need it," she said.

* * *

Achlys let herself fall back on her chair. The window shimmered from sudden heat, the office was suffocating.

He'd done it. He'd killed the avoxes, he'd destroyed a quarter of her city.

The man who had killed her twin brother in the name of innocents. The _hypocrite._

She screamed in pure fury.

* * *

"It's a diversion," Mags said clearly.

Achlys smiled, her annoyance at having both Styx and Delphin dead evaporating.

_What a smart young woman._

So close, Wickers was so close.

The leader of Panem brought her lips to the microphone.

"Hello Wickers, it has been a while. Please do not sacrifice your people needlessly. We are merciful, and will treat those who recognize the error of their ways as regular citizens. They will be allowed to choose their new home and raise children unbothered, as long as they follow the law. The war is over and we have no wish to spill any more valuable blood. Surely you have noticed that we have brought no lethal weapons. Do not let unreasonable anger cloud your judgement. "

"I'd rather die," Wickers snarled, his words easily relayed by the lips-reading softwares.

Achlys' smile broadened.

"and you are the greatest fraud ever born, Evadne."

Her smile fell, replaced by a hateful grimace, how dare he call her by name!

Wickers took a ragged breath, struggling not to fall to his knees. "I will-"

Achlys gasped when she saw him fall, her hand flying to her mouth. She frantically scanned the three last remaining tribute screens, her heart racing. She carved to believe her eyes with scorching fierceness, by what miracle...?

Mags.

Mags had killed Jute Wickers.

Achlys unceremoniously sat on the ground before the screens, paying no attention to the gamemaker hastily pulling out a chair for her. As a strategist and a politician, the President of Panem cursed, for she had wanted the man alive. Priceless information had been died with him, and rightly executed trials would have done wonders against the district rebels. She had entertained at length the gleeful thought of hijacking Wickers to twist him into a dutiful servant once he would have become useless and, most importantly, _broken_.

Instead, she rose, lighter than she could ever remember feeling, filled by a wave of all-encompassing joy. She kissed her hand and touched Mags' golden-brown hair on the screen. Gabriel would have been horrified at the thought of her torturing anyone, but his heart would have shattered if he'd known she'd tortured for him.

She blessed Mags for having spared her the nightmares by making it clean.

They had a victor. Wickers was dead.

She laughed.

* * *

**Ha, that was fun. And hopefully you now see that Achlys isn't just calculating, and understand why she may not be extremely objective when it comes to Mags.**

**Please review^^.**


	4. The Barracks (Years 11 and 12) 54

**These scenes take place between years 11 and 12 (following chapters 51-54). **

**Five peacekeepers, five point of views.**

* * *

**Sergeant Ajax, twenty-seven and torn. Year 11, March.**

"You are _not _to modify the official charts to make your demands," the tall man said sharply.

Mags shouldn't even know those files existed. _Marquise._

"People have been moving to Creneis, and the homeless had been forgotten in the count, Sir," Mags said with the polite patience she used just with him, as if her subconscious _knew_ that her genuine deference saved her life every day. "They have houses now but the stock of clothes, blankets and imported food is too low. We need more resources, Sergeant. You know I am not greedy."

Ajax didn't doubt her honesty, just her definition of _necessary_.

"You're using false pretexts to keep them employed. We do not need so many houses built."

"The law states we must have three children, people will need the space. I hope the academy will grow and people will come. After the houses are done, we'll build a proper road from the dock to the treatment factory and to the station. People break their backs carting the loads around."

Ajax's dark eyes narrowed, and just like her mother, Mags held his gaze, reminding him that her eyes had seen the worst of what mankind had to offer. He wanted to hate her, it would be so much easier then.

He nodded once and left, a disgusting sense of shame invading his whole being.

He could inquire further. Why two hundred houses? Why not build more ships like promised instead of just replacing the new ones? It was there, he could feel it, the nagging certainty she was hiding something. That woman planned everything, she fully trusted no one other than her mother and that slippery Glynn woman. What kind of person handled hundreds of workers without delegating?

_If you want something done well, do it yourself. _A fine idiom to live by in this world of lazy parasites, but Ajax couldn't pretend to be so blind.

He saw her anger, he saw how she cared. Whenever she saw a crack, a weakness in the laws, she slipped inside, slowly changing Creneis, for productivity's sake. Always _productivity_. As if he didn't notice what came with that word. Mags Abalone was the single greatest danger in all of District Four. A dormant beast who was using the Capitol and would break away as soon as she dared.

Ajax slammed his fist into the wall when no one could see, a fearsome grimace of pain deforming his harsh face.

Mags was the reason he would not be moved from little town to little town anymore, lugging weights and arresting petty criminals, until his hair was white and his knees creaked.

He'd barely made it back from Eight, reduced to a whimpering husk of a being when the dye factory overheated and infected the air with its horrid fumes. And when he'd been taken hostage in Seven, he learned the Capitol would abandon them without a backwards glance. The Capitol, who had assigned him for a year to Eleven's work camps, places barely fit for animals, for ruining a shipment of prize ebony in order to save himself and his companions, abandoned by their Sergeant who had fled like a coward.

He'd done the right thing, and they'd made him feel grateful for sparing his life and treating him like a dog.

Keeping Mags safe, keeping his mouth shut, would give him a future. If she hadn't won, he'd not even be Sergeant despite deserving the rank and more.

He loathed what she made him do. Loathed himself for not having the courage to uphold his vows.

Vows he had once thought were worth dying for.

He loathed that green-eyed slip of a woman that made him doubt.

She was a soldier, never complacent, never relenting and Ajax loathed that she had included Marquise in her plans and not him.

* * *

**Ranker Camilla, nineteen, first day pup. Year 11, September.**

Her heart hammered with excitement when the train door opened.

_Mercy, the wind cut hard. _

Large white and black birds were shouting at each other and Camilla watched mesmerized as they struggled against the wind and circling above the endless body of water.

She craned her neck, taking advantage of her uncommon height to see over the barbed fence.

The _ocean_. Grey and white angry waters crashing violently against sand and reef.

Wow. It was so _huge_. Juliet would want to know every detail.

The thought of impressing her older sister made Camilla almost giddy. About time the tables were turned.

It was plain to anybody with eyes that her parents had hooked up for the other's personality and maybe here, finally, skills and personality would matter more than her socially-crippling looks.

A foreign voice had her rip her eyes from the ocean. "Wow-how what did your parents feed you, girl?"

A short but quite strong-looking ranker -with at least twelve solid years of service from the looks of him- was taking her in. Camilla's glare was stopped by one glaring realization.

That man wasn't one of the older transfers, he was their welcoming committee.

"Brick-soup, Sir," Camilla deadpanned, standing to attention. Brushing off taunts was really the only brand of wit she'd mastered. Life had made sure she'd had the occasion to practice.

"Ha. Some of you other pups could have used that," he said, his lips curling as he observed the newcomers. They'd probably picked the broadest guy they had just to make them feel self-conscious.

Camilla straightened, trying to shake off the sudden shrinking feeling. She'd thrown herself into training body and soul, but what if it wasn't enough?

The eight men and two women stood stiff, barely daring to breathe as the Creneis peacekeeper scrutinized them pitilessly. They'd had their share of loud officers bellowing orders left and right back during training, but they hadn't actually been _on the job_. And the man hadn't shouted yet, which couldn't be good. They wouldn't actually have them welcomed by someone _nice_, would they?

Cold sweat pearled on Camilla's brow. She had heard wild stories on how pups were 'toughed up'. Beefy like she was, she'd never manage to keep a low profile.

"Lieutenant Falx is waiting for the transfers in the barracks. Go," the man ordered, gesturing towards an unmistakable reinforced building not far from the station. "As for you pups," he said, his lips breaking into a disquieting smile, "my name is Legend, and I shall be your guide."

_Legend_? Her lips twitched. No parent in Two would name their kid _that_.

Camilla's eyes widened in fright. Had he seen her reaction? She'd be buried before she'd even written her sister if that man ever learned how they'd talked of District One.

"Five pups from Tough Two this year... Let me guess, you," he triumphantly pointed at her former classmate Nicias, causing his ears to turn pink, "you, you, and little dove over here," Legend said, jabbing his finger straight at her. Camilla winced. _Great, already a stupid nickname_. At least it wasn't too awful. "You just gave yourselves away." All hints of smile vanished from his face. "Careful, my mother chose that noble name, and insulting mothers is _out of bounds_," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Who's the wise fifth?"

"Sir," Dario said, so stiff he might turn to stone.

A ghost of a smile flitted over Camilla's lips. _Of course_. That rule-lover would plunge a knife into his heart before disrespecting a senior peacekeeper, no matter where he came from. Good for him.

"House rules," Legend bellowed, causing them all to wince.

Camilla almost cracked up when she found herself saluting along with the others. Weren't they well-trained pups? Hearing Legend shout made her feel more at ease: that was more like home.

"My word is law, question it and lose your tongue, look like you disapprove and you'll go home blind," he said, looking deathly serious. "Others are to treat you by the book. You so much put a toe out of line and we'll love you, because there are always _those_ jobs we'd otherwise feel guilty to give to innocent fresh-faced pups," he threatened with a predatory smile. He then relaxed. "Someone from the old guard messes with you, I'll set them straight, but you'd better be sure it's worth others knowing you told me."

_Worth being the sissy of the barracks…_ Camilla shivered just at the thought.

"Look sharp," Legend snapped, his change of tone startling them again. "Right over there."

Cliffs hugged the Southern border of town, a handful of large houses gazed upon the town. That had to be a victor's village. Camilla's eyes widened, she'd thought the capital Lycorias would have housed -

"Mags Abalone won the ninth Hunger Games. She and her mother Angelites rank Sergeant."

Camilla gaped. _What? _They had been many to admire the volunteer with golden-brown hair. Because, how many thought they were a match for the arenas and then wept like kicked puppies on TV? Mags had avoided every pitfall, killed a freaking _rebel leader_ and not once had she lost face. But a Sergeant?

"Shut your gaping mouths. Mags can chuck in a cell if you think peacekeeping is play time with the locals. If she does, I'll be the first to laugh at you and I'll make sure your whole hometown gets a high quality record of it. Am I clear?"

_Cristal_. "Sir, yes, Sir!"

_This was going to be different_.

The barracks were clean and not too chilly. She'd get used to them quick.

The five of them were loosely sticking together at the entry of the mess hall. They'd been ordered mingle with the old guard but they had to pick right because somebody would have to provide the entertainment.

"Afraid of something, pups? We don't bite," a bald man said with a toothy smile. It wasn't an evil smile, but it clearly said _fresh meat._ "Me and wifey _love _pups."

'Wifey' was just as bald, with striking eyes and a lined face. Those were definitely veterans, which if the rankings were accurate, wasn't an achievement to boast of, not in Creneis Town. Camilla would've taken Lycorias if she'd ranked high enough in training to apply, but it seemed everyone wanted District Four.

Next to her, Laxis gave a low whistle. "Now look at that."

Camilla followed his gaze, and her jaw almost dropped.

The object of their attention barely glanced at them, her long blonde hair flowing in a brazen display of vanity and a half smile on her lips as her swaying hips left tangibly raised the levels of testosterone in the room. That uniform was definitely a half-size too snug.

Camilla raised her eyebrows. She bet that woman's parents hadn't needed great personalities at all. How'd she get away with the hair? It wasn't forbidden, but -

The bald man was scowling fiercely. "Putting on a bloody show every damn morning."

"What's her name?" Laxis asked, eagerness almost making him bounce.

"_Marquise_, strutting about thinking she's the victor's favorite and too good to do anything menial."

_Was she_? Camilla's eyes now narrowed in interest. Whatever it was, it was just loud whispers following Marquise around. No whistles, no shoves, no thrown food, and the officers weren't even there yet. If that woman was all lipstick and tits, why were they so afraid to show their feelings about it?

"Dream on, Big ears. Princess is too good for anything, always bitching about the salt or the smell and –"

"She had the gall to say she didn't want to be one of us," his wife said, hate etched in her features. "Started training at bloody _sixteen_. The Lieutenant should've kicked her out, can't believe how he lets her run her foul mouth of District Two."

That got the male pups' attention. "What does that slut say?" Hilliard snarled. Hot tempered hypocrite. He said the worst about One.

Bile rose in Camilla's throat as the group started plotting. _Twenty seconds_, it had taken twenty seconds for that couple to destroy Marquise's chance to start off good with them. Anger brought of old but still raw wounds began bubbling in her veins. How many times had that happened to _her_? Judged by appearance and then accused of arrogance when being defensive was the only way to react to the taunts with dignity.

_That's it._ She'd found her table. Camilla kept her head high and her face set as she went to sit next to Marquise.

Astonishment painted itself on the shapely woman's face when she noticed her "What's your name and what wonderful spirit of defiance brought you to my table?" She said, a small smile gracing her lips.

"I'm Camilla and I don't like how they were talking."

Marquise was sitting with her legs crossed next to the table rather than under it, the upper one swinging slightly. "I assure you that I am very vain by barrack standards. I refuse to be a man, or should I say a poor imitation of one, and that's unforgivable."

"You'd think the women would be happy to see you both feminine and successful," Camilla said quietly. She'd always thought female peacekeepers should help each other, they were outnumbered six to one after all and _girl_ had never stopped being an insult. Of course, life didn't work out like that.

Marquise gave her an honest, broad grin. "Sit down, pup. Why would they be happy about me getting all the attention? They'd have me bald and wrapped up in ridiculous baggy clothes."

"They're not baggy, they just don't stick to your body when you sweat. And short hair is practical." Camilla felt stupid after the words had tumbled out of her mouth. That's why she kept quiet most of the time. Nothing smart or witty to say.

The blonde rolled her eyes. "I shower when I sweat, that's what we do in District One."

Camilla stiffened at the jibe. "They implied you didn't sweat that much. Using the victor's name to shirk off duties."

Marquise grinned again, without any malice. Camilla wasn't used to people smiling at her like that. Actually, she was pretty sure what she'd carelessly said could have been taken as an insult.

"Absolutely."

Camilla stared, then a small smile broke her lips. _Fair enough_. She'd probably do the same. They were peacekeepers, not angels.

"You seem like a very tolerant person," Marquise finally said.

_Tolerant?_ Maybe. Most people called her boring and obvious.

Marquise stood up. "It's never too early to start. Come with me, we can grab a bite at the market. I discovered this man who sells cats as pet control, and he breeds them."

"Is that illegal?" Camilla said. She'd seen nothing on cats or other domestic animals in the rule book or the memo she had been given before her arrival in Creneis. "Is there a health issue?"

All those stray cats… maybe the fleas were plague carriers. Excitement surged through her at the thought of making her first arrest and seeing the town so early.

Marquise giggled. "No, I just want a kitten and bred cats will be less wild than those dreadful strays. I've tried twice to adopt one during my first year but it didn't turn out well."

Camilla's jaw dropped. That woman wanted a – . Was that some local hazing thing?

"You're adopting a kitten?" She breathed. This had to be a joke. They were peacekeepers!

"I'm a guard and a pilot already. I don't see why I have to be in soldier mode 24/7"

Camilla almost could hear her brain whimper. "Because it's in the job description."

What did they teach them in One? Hold it, _a pilot_? That was tough, only Dario had passed transmissions among the five of them. Camilla stared, trying to see beyond those too carefree blue eyes. An honest pilot. Damn, she had to be smart.

"No, it's written that we are to obey 24/7, not that we're on duty," Marquise said, pulling her hair in a tight ponytail. "Big difference, pup."

"You just made that difference up," Camilla said. She was a pup, not a fool.

Marquise crossed her arms, a sly smile gracing her lips "I'm not in jail. Would you say the Lieutenant doesn't know the rules?"

" The…" Camilla sighed ruefully. Rather than annoyed, she found that she felt at ease. A woman like that, being openly friendly to her? The nineteen year old grinned. "Let's get you a kitten. You have balls of brass, Marquise."

Camilla liked to think she had stopped caring, but the teasing that'd follow adopting a kitten… Glancing backwards, she was pleased to see Dario had left the others too. He'd always been polite to her.

She frowned in alarm when she saw a muscled man barring their way out.

"Adopted a troll to shine more, Marquise?" He sneered. "Can you stoop any lower?"

"You've always been so despicably shallow, Webster," Marquise replied, her bored tone belied by her frosty gaze. "Her name's Camilla."

Camilla's eyebrows shot up when she saw Marquise just step around the nasty man and leave, as if he was just a fly to be swatted away. That woman had to be incredible at self-defense to have people afraid to touch her. That or she really had some real strong support from people with power.

Marquise soon turned back towards Camilla, her hair swishing and her expression defiant. "Obey direct orders, Camilla-pup, but aside from that don't let people tell you what you can or can't do."

A small smile broke Camilla's lips. She so wanted to live like that.

* * *

**Ranker Webster, twenty-four and **_**bored**_**. Year 11, December.**

"Dude, I'm bored."

He threw a pebble at a passing teenager. The boy just stiffened and hurried past without so much as a glance.

Webster's lips curled in disgust. _Coward_. When he and his brother had left district Eight to join, enduring years of jeers and shoves from all those high-District snotty bastards who treated them like second-rate, it wasn't to put up with this crap.

His searching eyes finally zeroed in on a pair of fishies.

Boy with girl, perky little thing who wouldn't shut up while he drooled by her side.

He looked so pathetic Webster couldn't leave him like that.

"Look at him, bro. He's almost making me cry," Saran said, echoing his exact thoughts.

That's what twins were for. The two men shared a smirk and leisurely strode towards the runts.

Webster almost burst out laughing when the two looked like they would piss themselves upon seeing him and Saran heading for them. He couldn't help feeling a bit of pride too.

He tutted, a sneer painted across his face. "A tease at your age, your mother must hide her face in shame."

"Treating the poor boy like that, don't you have morals?" Saran exclaimed. He'd even managed to look honestly outraged.

"What'd you think, fishies never do," Webster replied, crossing his arms. "She'll squeeze the best out of him and then cast him away, a husk without hope."

They were getting all red and trembling now, the silly fishies. Webster ached for one of them to lash out. Then the fun would begin.

"And look at her," he added, taking in the skinny girl's sallow skin and long chin.

"Good point, she should be lucky to take what she gets."

"You leave her alone," boyfriend threatened, his voice cracking hilariously. "She's better than all of you put together.

How cute, and carrying her bag too. Webster would have to do fifty one armed pushups while shaving himself with a knife to get the slimy feel of pussy off his skin. Blah.

"Usually carrying bags before the girl agrees to kiss you is the sign of a small dick, kiddo. I really feel for you," Saran shot back, compassion incarnate.

What an asshole. Webster was almost jealous of the man.

And look at those glorious tears of humiliation on boyfriend's stupid red face. Ha.

Fishies had lost their tongues though. This was turning into a waste of time.

Webster was annoyed they hadn't put up a greater fight. And Princess, just standing there waiting for him to defend her. Losers.

"See ya, loser," he said, giving him a shove.

They sniggered as the two scampered off. Then his brother grinned.

"Dude, I'm bored," he said.

Webster nodded. Boy, days dragged on.

"Those three look like they're plotting."

"Bingo, Hawk-Eye. Let's see what they're up to."

They paused to assess their targets. Girl-fishies.

"Seven, Four, Ten," his brother evaluated.

Sounded right. Seven was maybe too nice. Hair and ass were good but her lips were all cracked and swollen and her nose crusty, it was vile.

"What do you want?" One of them challenged.

Rude of course, and it was the uglier one to boot.

"Now look here, Ten, I don't listen to any fishie that's not at least a Five." Webster said with a close-your-mouth hand motion.

She stiffened as if struck. Webster smirked. It was hysterical how that always got to the school girls. Vain hussies, all of them.

They had two of the three crying without even having had to threaten them before a voice rang out.

"The toilets are filthy, some people just can't aim. I told Lieutenant Falx you volunteered to clean them."

_Marquise._

That bitch. Why? What had they _ever _done to her? That wasn't deserved, obviously.

"Don't you have legs to wax or something?" Webster winced afterwards. Not his best comeback.

At least the three fishies had run away quick enough not to hear it.

"Listen, you piss the kids off, Mags gets angry. Now she's busy, but if she gets angry enough, you're going to regret having ever transferred here."

Oh lady, he already did. No one had nagged at him so much since his Ma. He hadn't had to deal with this shit in District Nine.

"We didn't touch the runts, don't get your knickers in a twist," he grunted. What was a bit of harmless fun?

"Keep her talking," his brother whispered. "I'm not listening, but my eyes are feasting right now."

Webster bit back a smirk. "So what'd you want us to do? It's not like we've been given precise instructions," he said, being the loyal brother he was.

Saran knew how to live. Webster didn't even know why he'd been looking at Marquise in the eyes before. At least 30 good seconds wasted.

He heard her snort. "You almost fooled me there. Pigs."

Webster was pretty disappointed when those delicious breasts were replaced by the back of her uniform.

Frigging double-standards. She didn't dress like that for the seagulls, did she?

"Damn it, bro, could you have been more obvious?"

Webster scowled. "Why should you get all the fun?"

"You idiot," Saran cursed, "now none of us are having any fun and we're stuck freezing our balls off or blondie will report us."

Webster blew his cheeks out. "Dude, I'm bored."

His twin punched him.

Webster winced. Asshole had a mean right hook.

* * *

**Ranker Legend, thirty-one and in love. Year 12, February. **

Seeing her full mouth bite the golden apple was the most sensual sight Legend had ever witnessed. She made him feel like_ she_ was making him a favor when he brought her food.

"Sorry," she said, licking the juice off her lips, the mischievous glint in her eyes never waning. "Want to share an apple, love? I even have a table ready."

A vivid blue cotton shift covered one of the crates, decorated with the tiniest candles. Had she made those just for the two of them? Where had she found the wax?

A smile broke Legend's lips. Only his Edlen could make a room full of additives and food preservatives romantic.

He straightened his uniform, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. "You are not allowed to use the food dyes to paint clothes, Edlen Albatross."

"Oh dear, but you caught me," the raven-haired woman said, horror widening her adorable eyes as her hands flew to her mouth, "please tell you are corrupt and there is _something_ I can do, _anything_," she breathed huskily, falling against him gracefully as if she was feeling faint.

Eleven years, and man was he still crazy about that girl.

And now he was late.

"You're late." Old Falx predictably said.

"Mags kept me, Dyplon, you know how she is."

The Lieutenant harrumphed good-naturedly and Legend felt a pang of guilt. They'd both been in Creneis over a decade, and it felt like lying to a friend.

But he had to protect Edlen. Even for him Dyplon would not look beyond that damned List of Rebels that branded Edlen as an enemy of Panem.

"Have you found replacements for Indra and Alaric yet?"

Legend furrowed his brow, pretending to think about it. He knew exactly who he wanted in the guard.

"Dario's discipline is outstanding, his academic knowledge impressive, and his skills quite adequate. He is a rigid boy with a great love of rules, working with us will do him good." Legend went on when Dyplon acquiesced. "I believe Camilla would be a suitable fifth."

"That huge female? Some older guards may disapprove," Dyplon said with furrowed brow. "She has not disappointed, but she hasn't distinguished herself either. There are more capable elements."

"She gets along with Marquise is very level-headed. She also trained with Dario in District Two. I believe she is the best suited for the task. I prefer to have a well-functioning team than one with skilled people who dream of stabbing each other."

_Which with Marquise's larger-than-life personality wasn't a metaphor._

Additionally, Camilla was a woman. Five men squads were the most trouble, that's why he'd insisted so forcefully about having Marquise on the guard two years ago, even before he'd been convinced she'd fit in. He treasured that breath of femininity, that calm force that kept the monsters at bay and reminded him of the home he'd once had. He'd been part of that madness once, never again.

"Well then, if she can stand Marquise," the grey-haired man said with a small grin. "Defend your choice when they'll complain," he said after a pause. "I'll support you,"

Legend stiffened when Dyplon abruptly stood up. That glare meant business.

"Legend, this has gone on long enough," the officer began, "you are working at a fraction of your capacities. You keep the pups in line as a ranker when Sergeants fail to get half the results. It pains me to promote fools when you should have been Sergeant six years ago. What are you doing with yourself, in Creneis at thirty-three? Didn't you come here with a bit of ambition?"

Legend stiffened.

_His first year of service had been the last of the rebellion. He'd been a kid full of grand notions on good, evil and justice, dreaming of great heroes and of vanquishing evil. _

_They had all been._

_Legend, Chalice and Sheen, inseparable, bold and fearless, brothers in all but blood, born to be heroes._

"I enjoy working with the lads, making them learn. It's enough power for me. Mags keeps me busy."

_Legend and Sheen, wary, mourning, afraid. Chalice had been their cheer, their courage, their innocence._

_Legend, wrath and vengeance. In a world of ashes and chaos, the teenager's whirling blade dripped with stolen life. They'd taken his brothers, there was nothing left. _

"Legend, the war has been over for more than a decade. I remember, and some of my demons are still loud and well-fed, but you must give yourself a chance."

_They'd culled them out, one by one, the rebels fleeing into the wilderness. He remembered the wolves howling, the fires rising high above the treetops where the trapped fugitives were turned to ash._

_He remembered _her.

"I am happy as I am, I don't want to lose it chasing fake dreams, Dyplon. Please believe me," Legend said, his blue eyes pained.

_He'd been scouting off the roads, a tortured veteran of barely nineteen. He'd heard a rustle, and _her_. A woman with tangled auburn locks and her cowering children, boys of twelve and nine, shivering from hunger and fear. _

"_Just foxes, nothing to signal," he'd lied, the words escaping his lips before he had time to think. _

_He'd never felt such relief. He'd had it with vengeance._

"But what do you have here, Legend?" The man exclaimed in frustration.

_He'd come back home, desperate to cast that mantle away. A pillaged home, an empty home. No explanation, not even the certainty his parents were dead. It wasn't the District One he'd left behind._

_He'd signed for Creneis, not caring where life would lead him anymore. _

_Life had led him to Edlen, and now he knew better than to ever leave again the place he called home. _

"What do you have?" Dyplon repeated, worry creasing his lined face.

"A man who wishes for me to succeed as if I was his son," Legend said with an affectionate smile, for it was true, and Legend would forever be in the man's debt. "I did terrible things in the name of ambition when I was still a boy. Let me be an outstanding ranker rather than a poor officer, Sir."

Dyplon swallowed, anger and something else, something softer, warring on his face. "You're a fool, boy. Get out of my office," he said gruffly.

Legend stepped out, but his smile slowly died when he realized Dyplon had unknowingly rubbed salt in a raw wound.

_What did he have that was solid?_

His feet began dragging him uphill, giving him the answer his mind feared to acknowledge.

Legend gathered his courage, hoping he wasn't making a terrible mistake. His palms were sweaty and cold, irrational fear gripped his guts.

He knocked.

Mags opened the door, her alarm morphing into surprise when she saw his expression.

He swallowed, desperation warring with fierce hope. "Mags, I need a name off the former rebels list," he quickly said.

Mags blinked. "Why?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if she suspected a trick.

"I'd have married Edlen Albatross eight years ago if not for that accursed list," Legend blurted, aware he'd never be brave enough to ask again. He risked a whipping at worst, but Edlen… That woman was braver than he deserved.

Mags stared. Then her lips twitched. "Give me a week."

"I'm asking you to commit a crime," Legend said, his voice hoarse.

Edlen, she'd given up her best decade for him, a man she couldn't be seen with, a man whose children she couldn't raise, not unless she became _that_ woman. Twenty-seven and childless, the family law hanging like a blade right above her head. If she couldn't be his, he'd have to set her free and leave in the hope a good man would see beyond the fact she held the Capitol's disfavor.

The thought made him want to die.

A small patronizing smile drew itself on the victor's lips. "A week and a day?" She said, her lips quirking further.

Legends words failed him, so he just saluted, wondering if maybe, this was life's way of apologizing for him, or of forgiving him for his crimes.

"You'll have the occasion to save my life a fair few times if you're planning to die in Creneis, Legend."

She was grinning, a comely flush on her chilled cheeks.

Legend found himself grinning too.

* * *

**Ranker Dario, nineteen and shaken. Year Twelve, February.**

_Uncivilized, violent, they respond only to force. You have to hit first, show you're meaner or they'll walk all over you. Look at the numbers, those beasts need to be contained. Peacekeepers are the shield, without us, the Districts would be depravation and chaos._

Bloody morons hadn't understood a thing about life.

Dario couldn't believe he'd wasted five years listening to such swivel. He'd have been better off been shipped straight to Creneis at fourteen. He'd for sure made a kid's mistake when Mags had ended up having to knife that man.

His blood still boiled at the thought. How close had he come to becoming the worst failure in Panem?

He couldn't care less when she stared at him crossly for invading her personal space. He was a guard and, with all due respect, Mags didn't seem to be aware she could be in danger. He wasn't there for show.

His eyes swept over the workers and passers-by. They were much too exposed.

To be a guard, he needed to _see_ danger. Training had molded him into seeing violent little bastards waiting for the right occasion to pounce even in wizened old ladies chatting away on the market place. Bloody useless.

"Still PMSing?"

Dario stiffened. "Thank you, Marquise, for daily giving me the occasion to practice my self-control," he said, his voice quite level.

"Alaric was more fun. Although, I did have to train him," Marquise said, reminiscing with a smile. "You may have promise yet."

"They said you slept with him." Dario said coolly, aware almost every male in the barracks tried to convince the others she'd slept with them.

"I did, had fun too."

Dario's eyebrows shot up. Somehow it seemed too, _human_ a thing to do. Marquise wasn't -

Marquise laughed. "You seriously thought I was a virgin? I'm twenty-four, don't be absurd."

Dario found himself struggling not to picture her naked. "Can we pretend we're on duty?" He said, sarcasm seeping in his tone.  
The joke would be on him if Mags got attacked while he was distracted.

Marquise let out a low whistle. "You need a hobby." She eyed him shrewdly. "Do you like cats?"

What the hell? "Cats?" Had her kitten already bred or something? He couldn't care less if she drowned the surplus.

"Call me Genie," Marquise said with a ghost of a smile, "and tell me your childhood ambition."

Two, there were just two of them close enough to Mags to intervene if there was trouble. Legend and Camilla were an absurd hundred yards away, and he had to be stuck with someone who couldn't take life seriously.

"Dario," Marquise snapped, and this time she looked serious enough for him to pay attention. "Do you think the older rankers are role models?"

Dario glared at her. He had no intention to remain a ranker. He respected the rules and the officers, he wasn't careless, he didn't slack on the job. They had to see that. Now the shock had faded, he was glad Mags had forced Sergeant Pike and the others to be accountable for their crimes. About time pettiness was punished, peacekeepers had a name to uphold. They had to be worthy.

"Whatever you want, you need to find what it is and go get it," Marquise said, "Life won't give it to you. I know District Two is all 'obey and don't think', but if you want to move up, it won't be by convincing yourself to plow on and stay miserable. You won't get anywhere if you don't dare try."

_District Two, wasn't_ – Dario swallowed back the sharp retort. Marquise was his senior, he wouldn't stoop to her level.

"I'm not miserable," he hissed, blood pulsing in his temple.

That hadn't come out the way he wanted… _Was he?_

_What did he want?_

His annoyance dissolved into confusion, and slowly fear. Why had he let that infuriating woman steer his thought there? What he wanted wasn't important. He served Panem, that was who he was, who he ever wanted to be. The rules were clear, they'd been made by competent people, wiser than him. He didn't need to go make a fool of himself thinking he knew better.

Marquise's blue eyes had an odd hooded quality to them. "Rules are comfortable, but they don't tell you who you are. I've seen tough men broken because they had nowhere to draw strength on when life shattered their shaky foundations."

Dario swallowed. Marquise seemed intent of shaking him every day. The worst was that she looked like she _cared_. Why couldn't she leave him alone?

_Why didn't he dare try?_

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**I hope they were different enough to be interesting. They're mainly focused on Mags' guard because those are the characters that deserve the most fleshing out. Marquise will have her own outtake.**

**Please review^^.**


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